The Crying Season: An edge-of-your-seat crime thriller

by D. K. Hood

  The sheriff and Kane should be nearing the switchback by now and out of sight, but would be visible again once they hit the straightaway trail back to camp. Satisfied the killer was nowhere near the sheriff, he stood, placed his rifle over one shoulder, and headed down the steep pathway to the bottom of the mountain. He passed the place Wolfe had first positioned Bradford and jogged into the bushes. He found the path she had taken and after a few minutes spotted the curly white cord to her com pack. From his location, he could clearly see the crevice bathed in sunlight and one quick look through his binoculars confirmed it was empty.

  A chill crept up his spine. Had the bobcat spotted her? He moved deeper into the forest, peering into the shadows, and the smell of cat urine hit him like a brick wall. Oh, shit. She was no fool but would she have panicked and run? He glanced around, searching for a clue, and found a boot mark in the soft ground heading away from the mountain. She had run in the sheriff’s direction, and if they had lured the killer to the area, she would be in great danger. He got back on his com. “Wolfe, we have a problem.”

  57

  Jenna took ten or so paces along the track then looked over one shoulder at Kane. She heard a putt not much louder than a twig breaking, and a spray of blood exploded from Kane’s head. She gaped at him in astonishment then a putt came again and a tree branch exploded beside him. Holy hell it was the sound from a sniper rifle with a suppressor and Kane was the target. The shooter could be up a tree hundreds of yards away or on the ground with a clear view through the trees. She dived to the ground and rolled into the bushes but Kane remained on the path, staring into space with a dazed expression. She waved to get his attention. “Get down.”

  Terrified at the amount of blood streaming down his face, she belly-crawled toward him through the trees. This should not be happening. Nothing was going to plan. Another bullet whizzed past Kane’s head, hitting a tree beside the path, and he just stood there as if transfixed. Something was terribly wrong. Kane’s combat experience would normally make him react instinctively and move into cover. She edged forward again, wriggling toward him, but he was ten or more yards away and she dare not call out and give the shooter her position again.

  When Kane staggered and dropped to his knees inches away from a steep drop at the side of the canyon, her stomach cramped in panic. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Be careful, you’ll fall.”

  After a feeble attempt to drag himself up, he lurched forward then to her dismay rolled over and tumbled into the canyon. Stunned, she crawled on all fours to the edge and stared in horror as his body bounced down the slope like a rag doll then snagged at the base of a tree. The surrounding bushes hid most of him from view and she could only make out one arm hanging over a log. He was not moving. Kane. Oh, dear God.

  Shocked and horrified, she gaped at him in disbelief—she had to get to him, but inside the truth gnawed at her. She bit back a sob of grief. The son of a bitch had killed Kane. Her first instinct was to run into the canyon after him, and she hovered on the edge deciding how to descend the steep fall. The squawk of an eagle overhead, as if in warning, brought her back to reality.

  There was a still a chance Kane was alive and she could not help him if the killer shot her as well. Take cover and contact Wolfe. She moved back into the forest then got to her feet, placed her back to a tree, and pulled out her cellphone. Another muffled putt and the screen shattered. Pain shot through her fingers and she fell hard, crashing to the ground. She lay winded for a few seconds trying to catch her breath. A bullet had passed through the cellphone and torn a six-inch split across the left side of her jacket. The shooter was using a suppressor and her team would not have heard the shot. He had her pinned down and was well hidden. She considered the angle of the shot. He is in front of me and on my right. How far away is he?

  Heart thumping in her ears, she scanned her immediate area. The bushes offered her protection for now. I have to get to Kane. She unzipped her jacket and with tingling fingers slid the Glock from the shoulder holster then crawled to the edge of the canyon. Under cover of the long vegetation, she slid toward the edge like a snake. She would have to move with care and not give her position away. If she waited for each gust of wind before belly-crawling through the bushes, he would not see her. Under her, the rough gravel, tree roots, and debris tore at her jeans but the Kevlar vest offered her chest protection and had saved her from injury.

  The images of Kane’s head exploding in a spray of crimson replayed in her mind. Be alive. Please, God, let him be alive. Realization slammed into her. If by some miracle he had survived the headshot, he could have broken his neck in the fall. One way or another, she had to get to him. Dammit, where is my team? Her hand trembled on the grip of her pistol. She took a few deep breaths then rolled onto her back and listened. Anyone coming into the canyon would dislodge a good amount of rocks and she would hear them, but only the sound of her heavy breathing broke the silence. After sliding her weapon back into the shoulder holster, she got onto all fours and headed toward the nearest tree.

  She stood in shadows with her back pressed hard against the trunk and peered down the slope. Kane’s gloved hand hung over a low branch but his fingers had not moved. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to access her professional façade but desperation seeped into her. A salty wetness coated her lips and she brushed away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Loneliness and despair engulfed her. She was the target, not Kane. How had this happened?

  58

  Euphoria bubbled into a chuckle as he moved like a ghost between the trees. He had often traveled the pathways made by animals walking to and from the canyon. The com in his ear was buzzing with the excited voice of his contact. The headshot on Paul had blown their minds and his associate was replaying it in slow motion on the pay-per-view. A trail cam had picked up Mariah’s shocked expression and his shot to take out her cellphone. A double whammy: Her cellphone was toast and the bullet had sliced a path across her ribs. That kind of shooting took skill. He grinned and paused to watch the slow-motion rerun of both Paul’s head exploding and Mariah sprawling on her ass.

  His contact assured him Paul had fallen into the ravine at the bottom of the canyon. His body would be dinner for the critters living in its fathomless depths. Without Paul to worry about, he had all the time in the world to play with Mariah, and he wanted this one to last. After all, winter would be here soon and the snow would force him to lay low until spring.

  He licked his lips. Mariah, his prey, was already on the move; the blonde had merely whetted his appetite. The viewers had changed his usual game but, hey, now he could concentrate on Mariah. After posting a list of his favorite moves for them to choose from, they had voted for him to rape her then cut her. He enjoyed the torture. It taught the bitches how to behave in his presence.

  His skill with a blade had become an art form, knowing how deep to cut without killing them. Once he had satisfied his viewers’ bloodlust, he would strangle her just enough to subdue her before he took her to his cave. She would figure her time with him was over and then she would wake up and he could start over.

  He approached the switchback and blended into the forest. She was close; he could almost smell her fear. He pulled out his knife and grinned. Run, run as fast as you can, Mariah, but you will never escape me.

  59

  “Orders, sir?” Rowley scanned the forest in wide sweeps. “I can smell a cat but nothing is moving down here. I can’t risk calling out to Bradford. It would alert the killer I’m here.”

  “We are on the plateau and the sun is still obscuring our vision. Do a recon of the immediate area, say a hundred yards along the trail you assume she went, then call in if you find her or not.” Wolfe let out a long sigh. “We’ll head down now. It’s getting late, and if the sheriff or Kane had eyes on the killer, they’d have alerted us by now.”

  Rowley slid the rifle from his shoulder, cocked the hammer and held it shoulder high. No way was he riskin
g taking on an angry bobcat or a lunatic without a weapon in his hand. He headed along the trail. “Roger that.”

  He had lived in Black Rock Falls all his life and spent many hours in Stanton Forest. It had been a retreat from school and later, a place to relax with friends, fishing or hunting. Of late, the place held memories he would rather forget. As he moved with caution, stepping through the zebra shadows across the path, his mind went to one of his new friends. After meeting Atohi Blackhawk, they had spent a great deal of time together. Atohi had offered him a different outlook on life and had eased his apprehension about venturing into the forest again. Atohi had insisted the forest was not to blame for the atrocities of man, and in fact, the beauty of the trees and all the forest held would heal the sorrow he had inside him. I hope so.

  The sound of crows and the flapping of wings as birds gathered in the branches made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. He had seen the signs of death before, and as sure as his name was Jake Rowley, crows gathering was the first sign. The breeze held the smell of blood and he stopped midstride and listened. Nothing, only the rustle of the leaves and the crows arguing as they watched from the branches. He stepped away from the trail and moved slowly from tree to tree, expecting to disturb a killer.

  Sweat ran into his eyes and a pulse pounded in his ears. With each step, the unmistakable smell of death increased. He closed his eyes for a second and prayed it would be an animal. With every instinct screaming at him to turn around and head back to Wolfe and Webber, he gripped his rifle and moved to the next tree. The smell had gotten bad. He swallowed his fear and turkey-peeked around the trunk, but one quick look was enough. Oh, Jesus.

  He fumbled for his com mic and depressed the button. “You need to get over here. It’s bad.”

  “Details, Rowley.” Wolfe’s orders came through loud in his ear.

  His hand trembled. “It’s Deputy Bradford and there’s a lot of blood.”

  “On our way. Check her vitals.”

  The forest closed in around him. The killer had a million places to hide and watch his reaction, the sick son of a bitch. He dragged up his last ounce of courage and walked toward Bradford. At the sight before him, his chest constricted and he could not breathe. He wanted to look away and had to force his eyes to take in the gruesome scene before him. There would be no need to check her pulse.

  60

  The rough terrain ripped at Jenna’s jeans, and bushes whipped across her cheeks, but she pushed on, sliding and slipping down the steep canyon. With only her inbuilt sense of direction to guide her, she kept low and made her way toward Kane’s position. Time was ticking by, and every second could mean the difference between life and death for Kane. She bit back a sob of frustration as the loose gravel underfoot hampered her speed. Without her cellphone, she had no contact with her team. She had a tracker ring, which in an emergency sent a message to Kane’s phone. Damn lot of good that was with Kane down. If she could get to him, she could use his cellphone to call for backup.

  The ground underneath her feet shifted, bouncing her in an uncontrollable slide into the canyon. In desperation, she looped one arm around a bush to slow her descent and grasped at clumps of grass to crawl to the base of a tree. She sat, gasping for air for a few seconds, then glanced up to check for any movement above her. Where is the shooter?

  One thing for sure, the killer was up there and would be running through his trail cam footage to find out where she was heading. With half an hour to the next check-in time, her team would have no idea their plans had gone to hell. With the sun blinding them, they would be ignorant to the fact the killer had shot Kane and she was in danger. The moment Kane missed a check-in and neglected to answer his cell, they would move in. In the meantime, she had to outsmart a psychopathic killer and get to Kane.

  She glanced around to get her bearings but the direct route to him would place her out in the open. I’ll have to find another way. The canopy of trees would cover her for a few more yards and she jogged along an animal path through the trees, lifting her knees to avoid the tangle of dry grass and ivy. When she came to the clearing, she could see Kane’s arm draped over a log twenty yards away. To avoid crossing the open patch to get to him, she would have to negotiate a small part of the perimeter of a fifty-foot drop to the bottom of the ravine.

  With the urgency to get to Kane front and center in her mind, she pulled up her gloves, gripped the woody stalks of bushes, then lowered herself feet-first over the edge. Her legs hung in midair and her heart thundered in her chest as she felt around the crumbling rock wall for a suitable foothold. Gravel tumbled down behind her, sounding like rain as it peppered the bushes below. She chanced a look down and her stomach cramped. Fear held her motionless for a few long seconds, then grinding her teeth, she edged sideways, gripping the bushes and moving one careful step at a time.

  The scrub moved under her grasp, threatening to uproot and plunge her to certain death. Shoulders aching with overexertion, she forced onward, edging along the perilous drop. Aware of the time her painfully slow progress was taking, she sucked in a sob of relief when shadows closed around her. The muscles in her arms screamed in protest as she dragged herself out of the ravine and lay panting in the grass. Not allowing herself a moment to recover, she belly-crawled into the cover of the tall pines then took in her surroundings. Kane was lying face down, legs sprawled. One arm hung over the fallen tree and he was still wearing the backpack. He had not made one twitch of a finger. Pushing down her instinct to run to his side, she scanned the area, making sure a shooter looking down from above would not see her, then moved closer.

  Panic gripped her and she tried desperately to steel herself to deal professionally with what she would find. From the spray of blood from Kane’s head wound and the fall into the canyon, the chances of finding him alive would be close to zero but she had to be sure.

  She moved from tree to tree, taking care to remain hidden, then belly-crawled to Kane’s inert body. Blood covered his hair and soaked the back and shoulder of his shirt. She removed her sunglasses and stared at the wound in surprise. The injury was not the gaping hole she expected and was bleeding profusely in a sign of life. Her survival training fell into place like a shield against her welling emotions of finding him alive. I must stop the bleeding.

  The bullet had gouged a four-inch path across his scalp just above the right ear, exposing the titanium plate in his head. She shuddered at the sight of the dented metal. How close did he come to dying? She removed one of her gloves and slid her hand under his neck to check his pulse. Under her fingers, she felt the thump, thump, thump of strength, not the weak flutter of someone bleeding out. Relieved, she went through his pockets to search for his cellphone, dragged it out, and groaned in dismay at the shattered screen. With Wolfe only a call away, Kane would have gotten the expert care he needed. She glanced up the canyon to the top. Nothing moved through the long grass or disturbed the loose rocks. The killer hadn’t found her yet. “I figure it’s just you and me, Dave.”

  With gentle care, she ran her hands over his arms and legs, checking for injuries. She found no broken bones but blood pooled around his left knee and he could have damaged his spine. She eased off his backpack and moved his arm from over the log. With the trees hiding them from above, she could tend to his head injury without the killer seeing her. Apart from energy bars and water, Kane made a habit of carrying a Combat Lifesaver Kit complete with wound stapler. At least she could stop the bleeding. She pulled out the kit and went through the supplies. After pulling on surgical gloves, she trimmed away the hair, cleaned the leaves and other debris from Kane’s wound, irrigated it, then stapled the edges together. After dressing the wound, she stared at him, willing him to open his eyes.

  He had bruises all over, and deep scrapes and scratches on his face. Not wanting to move his head, she dabbed at what she could reach then turned away to pull a blanket from the backpack. As she turned back, Kane lifted one arm and had her by the throat. She stared up
into the eyes of a man she did not know. Cold and intimidating, they bore into her, examining her face. He weighed a ton and she gasped for air. “Get off me.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Kane touched his head and winced. “You sure made a mistake trying to kill me, lady.”

  She gaped at him, trying to inhale under the weight of him. “I’m Sheriff Jenna Alton and your superior officer. We are chasing a serial killer and he shot you.”

  “I wouldn’t be anyone’s deputy, not in this life.” Kane’s fingers tightened around her throat. “Think again and I might allow you to live.”

  Jenna tried to think back to the stories he’d told her about working for POTUS. “Calm down and I’ll tell you what I know. You’re off the grid and I know you as Dave Kane.” She looked into his eyes but not one glimmer of recognition showed there. “You told me once one of the agents guarding POTUS left his com on when he went to the bathroom for an explosive visit. You had to listen and guard POTUS without laughing.”

  “Go on.” Kane’s grip loosened.

  Desperate to get him back on her side, she gave him an abridged version of his life. “Your wife’s name was Annie and she was killed in a car bombing. You have a plate in your head because of that attack and ended up as my deputy in Black Rock Falls.”

  “I don’t remember you or being a deputy.” Kane’s troubled gaze scanned her face. “The rest was yesterday. What’s the date?”

  Jenna told him then pushed her hand into her pocket and pulled out her creds. “Here, look. I am who I say.” She waited for him to examine her ID then gave him a quick rundown of their situation in the hope it would trigger his memory. “We’ve been working together for a year. You live in a cottage on my ranch. You have a dog named Duke, a bloodhound.”